ages come and go but her life goes on the same
by coinoperatedbecca
Summary: [NEW AUTHOR'S NOTE; END OF CHAPTER ONE CHANGED] With age comes changes, some of which Atticus Finch could do without. [Set Fifteen years after 'You Were a Photograph'].
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I when I started this story, I had a big ol' plan in my mind. However, I had to drop off of the grid because I was finishing up my semester, doing a summer class and working three jobs, so while I didn't have a chance to write during that time, boy did I have a chance to think…. And I realized that the original story plan I had was really bizarre. I had something I wanted in mind, but I didn't play it out the way I wanted to, and finally I had a chance to revise this and get things to a place where I wanted them to be. The only thing that's changed is the end of this chapter, and then hopefully new chapters will be coming soon. Please excuse me being a mess/changing things up.

-o-o-o-

Years ago, he had become familiar with what a burden it was to grow older. It was almost as if he had been on a steady decline since he turned forty-five. His eyesight was on a steady decline, it was beginning to sound like cotton balls were shoved in his ears, and the rheumatoid arthritis made it nearly impossible for him to live comfortably.

However, he didn't realize that growing older would be such a burden to _others_.

He was filled more with embarrassment than pain when he fell down the concrete steps outside of the church in Montgomery following Louise's funeral. He was filled with shame as family and funeral-goers surrounded him, suffocating him with gasps of shock and words of concern. He was almost brought to hate himself when he saw the looks in Jem's and Scout's eyes. They were devastated enough after losing the closest thing they have had to a mother, and now they were forced to watch their aging father make a display of falling down an entire set of steps and hitting his head. He could tell they were conflicted, they wanted to stay with their father and make sure he was alright, but they also wanted to go to the cemetery to say their final goodbyes to their aunt.

He almost wanted to die when Jack stayed behind while the others went to bury Louise, joining him at Hattie's house and tending to the cut that had somehow formed on his forehead. "I patched it up," Jack said before easing himself into a chair next to his brother after what seemed to be an eternity of silence. The hint of laughter that was usually in his voice had disappeared days ago, and he was no longer quick to come up with a joke or riddle. "I think I'm going to check on it over the next few days, to make sure it isn't infected."

"I'm sorry," Atticus said for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day. Jack scoffed.

"Honestly," Jack responded, making a soft grunting noise as he got himself comfortable in his chair. Atticus could not help but to notice that his younger brother, the baby of the family, was getting old too. "I didn't want to go."

"But it's Louise," Atticus said, unable to hide his confusion.

"That's why," Jack said wistfully, sighing as he looked away from his brother. "I'm not sure if I could handle seeing her being put in the ground. I think I would laugh."

"Laugh?"

"I can picture that broad standing next to me," Jack said, his eyes still not meeting his brothers. "I can picture her clicking her tongue and saying 'ah, I'm goin' where I ought to be—closer to hell.'"

Atticus couldn't help but to laugh.

"Ah damn," Jack said, wiping his eyes. "I'll miss that gal."

Atticus would, too.

Selfishly, Louise's death reminded him of his own mortality. The woman was only fifty-eight—two years away from sixty—when her heart failed her for the second, and final, time. Compared to his seventy-five, Louise had been young, but she outlived a nephew and three sisters, and all of their tragic ends was something that Atticus still could not understand. Louise had been seemingly unstoppable, continuing on with life as though she was still in her twenties, without a clue that anything was wrong.

And then she was stopped.

-o-o-o-

He hadn't realized how excruciating it would be to travel the hour home to Maycomb after his fall. It was almost as though his tumble down the stairs of the church enhanced his usual pain and unsteadiness, and there was a constant ache throughout his entire body. His head hurt. His joints hurt. _Everything_ hurt.

Atticus had traveled to Montgomery with Jem, also joined by Scout and Jem's wife and five-year-old daughter. The ride had already been tense, with Jem and Scout silently sat in the front seat, their jaws clenched as they tried to conceal the emotions they were feeling. Meanwhile, Jem's wife Carol sat beside Atticus, trying to occupy her young daughter, as Atticus tried to hide the fact that he had never felt so much pain in his life.

His children were thirty-five and thirty-one now—they both had existed for over three decades. It blew his mind how fast time had flown by. One moment they had just been born, but in a blink of an eye, they were adults. He felt the need to constantly remind his son not to take advantage of his daughter's youth. One day she'll be turning thirty, too, and Jeremy will be left wondering where time went.

It had been a year since Jeremy fully took over his father's law practice, and while that made Atticus proud, it simultaneously broke his heart. He never once imagined a day where he would be too old to go to work, where it would be too painful to make the seven-minute commute to his office, where he would grow unbearably tired after just a few hours. It killed him that his body was failing him, because his mind was still so active, still so eager to be put to work.

Jean Louise, meanwhile, left Maycomb long ago. Once she turned eighteen, she took a leap of faith and sent out applications to all sorts of places in New York. She wanted to be a writer, to be a journalist, to make a difference with her words. Unexpectedly, however, a department store was the first to respond, wanting her to work in their advertising department. Based on the letter she sent them, they liked her wit and charm, and thought that she could bring them much success. She had been there ever since, growing in the ranks of their advertising team—surprising grown men with her intelligence and gall—and was using her spare time to write opinion pieces to send to newspapers. Unlike her brother, Scout still never married, though that did not mean there was an absence of men from her life – however, there were many details she did not share with her father.

Looking back, he was proud of his relationship with his daughter, and how far the two of them have come. It had been fifteen years since Hank, a dastardly boy that used to live with their neighbor, raped his daughter. In the immediate aftermath of that event, Atticus couldn't live with himself for failing his daughter and coped with it the best way he could – through pushing her away. Although it has taken years, and things were still not one hundred percent the way the used to be, he and Scout had strengthened their relationship. Though he was sad to admit that his health hasn't allowed him to visit her in New York in the past five years. Thankfully, that coincided with the birth of Scout's only niece, Josie (a name that Scout picked herself), and it no longer felt like pulling teeth to get Scout to come home.

Though, this visit will not be the usual joyous occasion. The air was thick and heavy with grief, and Atticus was unsure if it would ever go back to being completely normal. Louise's death had been unexpected, sneaking up on them at a time when they foolishly thought that she would live forever. It surprised them in the worst way, and it seemed like they were all suffering from a shock they couldn't recover from.

"Atticus?" Josie asked softly. That was Jem's doing—from the moment the little girl began to speak, she was trained to call her grandfather by his first name, just as his children had done. Atticus didn't object. It was nice to hear the sweet, small, voice of a child calling his name again.

"Yes, sweet?" he asked, resting a hand on her small head.

"Who's gonna be my almost-grandma, now?"

His heart sunk.

-o-o-o-

Almost shamefully, Atticus found himself needing a nap when he got home. Alexandra and Jack, who had driven separately to Montgomery, had already arrived in Maycomb and Alexandra was at Jack's—keeping him company. Josie had become inconsolable just as they were nearing Maycomb, probably from a mixture of grief and sleep deprivation, and Jem and Carol thought that it'd be best if they took her home. As Atticus was about to go lie down, Scout told him she was heading to Jack's for a little while.

"I can stay," she told him. "If you want me to."

"I'll be asleep," he told her. "You wouldn't have much to do around here. Go."

"But—" she was referring to his fall, to his health.

"Don't you worry about it," he said. "Go."

And she did.

Atticus ended up settling himself on the sofa in his sitting room. Time and time again, Alexandra told him that it would only make his pain worse, but the couch was at a much better height than his bed and it was far easier to get in and out of it. Plus, Alexandra wasn't here right now, so there was no one here to lecture him about his "reckless" behavior.

He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, but he awoke to the feeling of someone watching him. He supposed it was Scout or Alexandra, home from Jack's, getting ready to scold him for making his back worse.

But it wasn't either of them.

Seeing her sitting there, on the chair opposite the sofa, and watching the sun illuminate the hair that he knew so well, almost made him stop breathing. She wasn't facing him. Instead, her eyes were cast out the window, observing the outside world with a placid expression on her face.

He blinked, thinking that perhaps he was still sleeping, still dreaming.

But, when he opened his eyes, she was still there.

"The treehouse is gone," she remarked, her eyes still not moving from the window. "The one you and Jack built for Jem."

"It's a different house." He found himself saying. "We moved."

She faced him, and he was struck with a wave of nostalgia. She was as young as she had been the day she died, her hair bright and ungraying, her skin smooth and full of youth. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning – her face was serene, peaceful.

He shook his head, almost as if the shake the thought of her away. This wasn't rational, wasn't logical – Jean was dead, there was no possible way for her to be here. _You're tired,_ he told himself. _You're seeing things_. He closed his eyes, blinking tightly.

She was still there.

She was looking out of the window again. "I think I remember this part of town," she said. "I think we passed through here on our way to church or somethin' like that."

He couldn't remember.

"I suppose so," he said.

She was smiling now, the hint of laughter etched on her face. "Do you remember the time I was impersonatin' the visiting preacher when I thought y'all left to Louise, and you and the preacher actually caught me? My, I think he wanted to damn me to hell right there."

He chuckled. He could remember that.

"I hated church," she said.

"I know, sweet," he told her.

"But I sure do love you," she told him.

"I love you," his voice was a whisper, almost as if he was suddenly reminded that Jean was dead, that when he woke up from his dream, Jean wouldn't be there to tell him she loved him. He didn't want to wake up, he wanted to stay in this peaceful alternative universe for the rest of his life.

Looking out the window again, Jean chuckled. "How is it that Alexandra can still manage to fit inside that corset at this age?" she asked, a mischievous look on her face. "That _can't_ be the same one she always wore."

"Hush," he told her, trying not to laugh himself. She looked at him triumphantly as the front door cracked open.

"You know I'm right," she said, smirking.

"You're the devil for saying that," he told her.

"Atticus?" Alexandra asked, with Scout trailing behind her. "Atticus who are you talking to?"

 _What was happening?_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A lil reminder (even though y'all probably don't need it) that I rewrote the end of the first chapter, so read that before reading this chapter or else it might be a bit confusing. Also, this is pretty darn rusty because I'm _still_ trying to get my groove back. But it'll start getting better soon (hopefully). I promise.

-o-o-o-

" _Atticus?"_

" _Atticus?"_

His eyes were set on Jean. She was standing in the corner of the room, looking at a collection of photographs that Alexandra hung on the wall when they first moved to the new home. There were some pictures of old – Jean and Atticus on their wedding day, them with their children – but most of them were new. He wondered if she was examining the new ones, wondering what events occurred in her absence. "Sweet," she said, not looking away from the frames. "Sweet, Scout is callin' for you."

He brings his attention to his daughter, who was leaning in the doorway that lead to the parlor. She had a frown on her face as she watched him. "How long have you been here?" He asked, just noticing her presence.

"For ten minutes," he couldn't tell if the expression in her voice was agitation or worry. "I was callin' you for breakfast."

"It's too late for breakfast," he remarked. She folded her arms.

"It's nine am," she said matter-of-factly. "Uncle Jack and Jem are here, we've had this planned for days."

He couldn't recall that.

"Your aunt must not have told me," he said, slowly getting up. His arthritis was hurting him something awful today. Jean had turned away from the photo frames and was watching him, a hint of worry in her eyes.

" _You_ planned it," she said. "At Lou's funeral."

A solemn expression struck Jeans face. "I always told her to get her heart checked," she lamented. "She never listened. You make sure Scout gets checked, I don't want her dropping dead like I did."

 _Like I did._

 _Like I did._

He almost forgot that she had died. He didn't want to think about it.

"Atticus, _what_ are you lookin' at?"

"Nothin'," he responded gruffly. "Let's go eat."

As they walked to the dining room, Atticus could tell that Jean Louise purposefully slowed down her pace to match his. He _hated_ it. He was now the old man that people pitied, he was basically an invalid in his family's eyes.

As he sat down at his place at the head of the table, he heard Jem whisper to Josie "don't jump on Atticus, now, you'll hurt him." In response, Josie slowly made her way to her grandfather, softly wrapping her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, feeling sick over the fact that she was told to treat him like the fragile thing he was.

As he sent Josie back to her seat, Atticus noticed Jean watching the girl, her hands clasped together and her eyes wide. "Just look at her," Jean remarked. "She's _beautiful._ "

"Would you like some eggs, Atticus?" Alexandra asked, holding out a tray of steaming eggs.

He didn't answer. Instead, he watched Jean. She was walking around the room now, looking from person to person. Her eyes landed on Scout, and Jean's eyes slowly moved up and down, examining the daughter she never got to see grow up. "She looks more like Louise than me," she remarked. "I swear she could be Louise's daughter." His heart sank.

"Atticus?"

Atticus jumped. "What?" He asked.

Alexandra was staring at him. "Eggs," she said firmly. "Atticus, do you want eggs?"

"You're talkin' at him like he's a dog," Jem said, his mouth full of egg.

"Jem," his wife began, as a warning for him to stop talking.

"I'm simply getting his attention," Alexandra responded.

"Maybe you should get the stick out of your ass before you do that," Scout said.

Then, pure chaos erupted.

Jack hollered (whether it was with surprise or laughter Atticus was unsure) while Jem burst into laughter, which caused Josie to laugh while Carol simply covered her eyes with her hand, resigned. A mixture of embarrassment and fury crossed Alexandra's face.

From the corner of his eye he noticed Jean, cheeks blushed with delight and a triumphant smile on her face. "Lord Almighty," Jean said. "She _is_ like Louise!"

-o-o-o-

The family breakfast was shortly interrupted by Scout and Alexandra fighting – Scout attempted to apologize, but was only met by comments from Alexandra wondering why her niece was "so cruel." Josie watched, her eyes wide, as Scout and Alexandra moved between kitchen and dining room, with Scout trying (albeit not that hard) to make amends with her aunt. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Alexandra stormed off to her room.

"Zandra does have a stick up her ass," Jean shrugged.

"Way to go, kid," Jack said, laughing.

"Why do you always fight with Aunty?" Josie asked her aunt, a serious tone on her voice. Atticus knew that Josie wasn't asking this because she felt bad for Alexandra. Rather, she was asking because she was _terrified_ of Alexandra, and couldn't comprehend why Scout was brave enough to be so brash with her Aunt.

"It's complicated, sweet."

"Are we gonna fight like that?" Josie asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

"Hell no," Scout said. "You're my best girl."

At the sound of the swear word, Jack elbowed Jean Louise hard in the side, making her yelp. "Are you goin' to let her talk like that?" He asked Jem and Carol. "Soon enough, Josie will be swearing."

"I've already accepted it," Carol said. "Last week she damned me to hell because I didn't pass her the damn ham."

"Hrmph." Jack grunted.

"Still such an odd man," Jean remarked, looking at Jack. "Does he still tell those awful jokes?"

"Yes," Atticus said.

"What was that?" Scout asked.

"What was what?" He responded.

His daughter shot him a quizzical look. "I thought you said somethin', that's all."

"How long are you goin' to be here for?" Jem asked his sister. "You've been here almost a week, at this point you're usually runnin' for the hills."

Scout rolled her eyes. "I'll stay here as long as I want to," she retorted.

"If you stay here long enough, I'll start puttin' you to work at the law office."

"Real funny, Jeremy Finch."

The times when Scout was home was always bittersweet to Atticus. It seemed that once he finally got used to the fact that his daughter, his baby, moved far away from home, she was back for a visit. Every time she left was like a wound being reopened in his heart. She was thriving and doing well in New York City, but he couldn't deny that he missed his daughter. He missed the six-year-old little girl who would curl in his lap and read even though she was way too long and almost too heavy. Watching Jem and Scout, now adults, bantering back and forth with one another was strange to him. He remembered his children, his babies, young and full of wonder and curiosity. Now his children were adults with lives of their own, leaving him behind.

It almost felt as though he was a stranger in his own family. No one ever told him how much it would hurt once your children grow up, move away, and form their own lives. They no longer needed him. In fact, it was _him_ who needed _them_. He was old and fragile and it was almost as if his children needed to hide that from him. For so long, he had been able bodied. Now, he needed his children to speak up louder for him to be able to hear them, and to walk slower so that he wasn't in pain.

There was once a time where his children's lives revolved around him. He took advantage the days in which his children not only needed him for their basic survival, but actually wanted to spend time with him. No one told him that as your children grew up, they wanted less to do with you. While he was immensely proud of their accomplishments, he couldn't help but to be somehow hurt by the fact that his children no longer needed him. That his children no longer _wanted_ him. Even though they never said it, Atticus knew that he was becoming a burden to them.

"I think I might go to Europe," Jean Louise announced, leaning back in her chair to signify that she was done eating. "I might travel for a while, like Lou did."

"You don't know anyone there," Jem said.

"Neither did Louise," Jack interceded. "She went by herself for nearly two years."

"That's what I wanna do," Scout announced. "I want to travel, I want to see things, I want to hear people talk in different languages and just take it all in."

"You want to leave for _two years_?" Josie asked, her eyes wide with fear. She adored her aunt, and in her five-year-old opinion, even New York was too far for them to be separated.

"Probably not that long, sweet," Jean Louise said. "Just for a short while. I'll even send you post cards, like Lou sent to us."

"Daddy still has some of them," Josie said matter-of-factly. "He keeps them in his office."

"You should tell her to go," Jean said quickly, looking at Jean Louise. "I don't want that to be an experience Jean Louise misses."

"I think it would be good for you," Atticus told his daughter. He almost felt relieved by the fact that his approval made his daughter _beam_.

"I think Lou inspired me to do it," she said, shrugging. "All of my life, she talked about how glad she was she got to do it, and I just think it's one of those things I gotta do before I die. Actually, Dill wrote me from Italy and he was sayin'…." Her voice trailed off as Atticus' attention returned to Jean. She was watching her daughter excitedly talking about what Dill had written to her, about what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go, the things she wanted to see. Jeans eyes were filled with tears.

"Atticus?" Scouts voice came back to clarity. "Atticus, are you crying?"

He was.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Another plot bunny jumped into my head and I decided to make this a bit like _Photograph_ , but it's only going to alternate between Jean Louise and Atticus. There will be notice when it is in Jean Louise's POV. Also sorry for the VC Andrews shit at the end (not involving the Finch family), I'm taking Family Law this semester and a similar thing happened in a case I just read.

-o-o-o-

 _Jean Louise_

Jean Louise Finch sat down with a sigh at her Uncle's kitchen table. In the five days that had passed since her Aunt's funeral, the kitchen table seemed to be more cluttered, full of dog-eared books and half-used plates and cups. Somehow, she seemed to have forgotten just how messy her Uncle Jack was. He had lived with Aunt Louise for over half of Jean Louise's life, and any time before that seemed to be lifetimes away.

Ms. Havisham, the scrawny black cat that Aunt Louise brought home for Jack after Rose Aylmer finally kicked the bucket years ago, jumped onto the table and began nibbling at a half-eaten sandwich Jack had left for only God knows how long. "Shoo," Jean Louise hissed, brushing her hand between the cat and the sandwich. "That isn't yours."

"Let the old broad do what she wants," Jack said from the other room. "She isn't harmin' a soul."

"This sandwich is goin' to harm _her_ ," she called. "When is the last time you've cleaned this damn place?"

"Language, ma'am."

Despite the fact that he couldn't see her, she rolled her eyes. "You'd hate it in New York,"

"That's why I've never been,"

"Seriously," she called out. "When was the last time you cleaned?"

"I haven't cleaned since Lou got sick nine days ago," he called back. He stated it so matter-of-factly. Her heart broke.

"I'll clean for you," she told him.

"Don't touch the book face down on the counter," he told her. "It was Lou's first time readin' it, I don't want to lose her place."

When she looked at the counter, she saw a copy of _The Crucible_ by Arthur Miller lying face down, as if Louise was to come back at any moment to resume what she was reading. Jean Louise ran her finger across the broken spine (Louise, just like her niece, was rather cruel to books and had the habit of throwing them around until they broke).

It had been sitting there just long enough to collect dust.

Jean Louise had read this book when it was first published. A man at work had given it to her, mentioning that she'd like it for its "historical value" and she had to refrain herself from laughing in his face and calling him an idiot when she realized the broader purpose of the book. She wondered what Louise thought of the book. She wondered if her aunt liked it.

She wished they had a chance to talk about it.

Keeping the book in its place, she cleaned the kitchen. She removed the old food from the table (much to Ms. Havisham's dismay), she scrubbed the table and the counters, and washed and put away the dishes. By the time she had finished, she was unsure of how much time had passed by. Sweat accumulated on her forehead, causing her dark hair to stick to it. Her cheeks felt flushed, but she felt good, like she had accomplished something. After moving away to New York all of those years ago, Maycomb was just too tired and slow for her. She couldn't sit still, she had to be doing things, she had to be productive. She had done good, she thought to herself. She was productive _and_ she helped her uncle. However, when she thought about how dirty the rest of the house must have been, she realized that this was just a small dent.

But at least it was progress.

When she was putting the last of the dishes an old teapot hidden in the back of the cabinet caught her eye. Gingerly, she wrapped her hands around the cool glass and pulled it out.

It was the small white teapot with the blue floral designs that Jean Louise admired ever since Louise moved to Maycomb. It was an heirloom of some sort from her mother's side of the family, handmade and hand-painted. Jean Louise spent many of her days admiring the unique floral design whenever Louise hosted tea. She rubbed her fingers along the pattern – despite being so old, it still looked in pristine condition. Jean Louise wondered how her aunt had kept it that way, she wished she had asked when she still had the chance.

She hadn't seen the thing for years, not since that dreadful time in 1942 (fifteen damn years ago) when Hank nearly destroyed her, nearly destroyed their family. Looking back on it, either Jean Louise's memory was failing her, or the last time she had seen this teapot was a day that she and Louise were fighting about Hank. Maybe that's why it was so pristine, because Louise never thought to enjoy it again.

Her face grew hot as tears prickled and burned her eyes. She held the teapot to her chest, as though she was hugging Louise to her in its place.

"You can take that," her uncle said, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

"Christ Almighty," her voice was hoarse, a sob lurking in the back of her throat. "I almost dropped the damn thing."

Jack didn't respond. Instead, he opened the next cabinet and took out four matching plates. "She got these from your Aunt Hattie when she passed," he explained, extending the plates out to her. With slight hesitation, Jean Louise grabbed them.

"Don't be sheepish," he almost barked. "They're yours. In fact, your mother had four matching teacups. Zandra has been saving them for you for whenever you wanted them. I don't think you can complete the set, though, your cousins," he waved his hands in the air, indicating he forgot their names. "got the sugar bowl and cream pourer from your Aunt Lottie when she passed."

It was still strange for her to think of how little was left of her mother's family. There was her and Jem, and her cousins Clara and Elizabeth. Just four reminders that there had once been a Graham family from Montgomery.

For some reason, it made her sad.

"Thanks," she said, examining the plates with care. She couldn't remember seeing these before. But then again, she didn't see Hattie as much as she saw Louise.

Her lip quivered. Four plates and four cups for four Graham sisters.

"Hey now, don't do that," her uncle warned.

"I should go," she said, her eyes still on the dishes.

"Kid, I was just jokin—"

"I just need to get back to Auntie," she explained, finally looking up at him (though she knew he probably could tell she was lying). "She doesn't like me bein' gone too long."

She was out the door before he could respond.

-o-o-o-

She didn't go home after leaving her uncles. Instead, she walked in the direction of her old home, probably looking like a fool with the dishes and teapot in her hand.

But she didn't care.

After aimlessly walking, she found herself at the lot where her old house stood. The house that her mother had once lived in. The house where her, Jem, and Dill played and let their imaginations live. The house where she did all of her firsts. The house where her life fell apart.

But, instead of a house stood an ice-cream stand.

She looked at the stand in disgust, wishing instead that there were some remnants of her old home and old life left. Looking around, she realized that everything around her had changed. Long gone was the tree house and the tire swing and the Radley house and the Atkinson house and everything she had grown to love throughout her childhood.

Maybe it was some sort of poetic symbolism – her life had been destroyed here, and eventually the physical reminders of that life were destroyed, too.

It probably wasn't, though. It just showed that life changes despite the fact that she never wanted it to.

Sighing, and with tears still present in her eyes, she went up to the counter. Walter Cunningham worked there, and she was pretty sure he owned it now. She would always remember him as the dirty boy she yelled at for putting maple syrup on the ham.

"He-ey, Scout," he said pleasantly. She had to force herself not to look at him with disgust. How could he be so pleasant when life was so fucked up?

"I'll take vanilla in a cup with sprinkles," she said in response. Gingerly, she placed the plates on the ledge of the counter and placed money down. "Keep whatever change there is," she said as she precariously balanced the ice cream on the plates and went to the seating that was provided.

Two bites in, she wanted to vomit. Some people assuaged their grief with food, but the thought of doing that made her sick. Angrily (though she wasn't quite sure what she was angry at), she threw the ice cream in the trash, and took her dishes towards the center of town. She knew what would help her.

Booze.

Her aunt would probably tell her that she looked like a Ewell when she took the cheap bottle of whiskey and drank out of it before the man even finished processing her payment, but she didn't give a damn. "That isn't very lady-like," the clerk said, and she wanted to respond with a venomous _fuck off_. Instead, she took her whiskey (now shoved in a paper bag), and her dishes and went to the town square.

Where she saw Atticus.

Sitting on a bench alone.

Talking to himself.

Sighing, she took another swig of her whiskey, and nearly ran towards him.

"Atticus?" she asked, slowly sitting down next to him. She placed the whiskey on the grass, and balanced the teapot and plates on her lap. "Atticus what are you doing?"

"This is like a tiny replica of the town's square in Montgomery, if you think about it, Jean," he said, though he wasn't looking at her.

Her father never called her just Jean.

"I suppose it does," she said in response.

He laughed to himself. "I still remember the time when we came to visit Montgomery right after you and I got married and you and Louise were so excited to see each other it was like you were children again," he said. "You snuck out in the middle of the night and the two of you went on those swings in the town square at Montgomery."

That was when she realized that he thought he was talking to her mother.

Her dead mother.

Closing her eyes, she grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took another long sip from it. "Were you worried?" She finally asked, almost choking from the burning sensation in her throat.

"At first I was," he explained. "But your mama told me that she knew that was where the two of you snuck off to ever since you were young."

Jean Louise feigned surprise. "I swore mama never knew we snuck out," she said, not knowing if this was true. "I thought that we were so clever." Nausea crept into her stomach, she couldn't explain why she felt so awful about this.

He chuckled again. "I'm sure you would do the same thing to Jem and Scout," he informed her. "You would always know where they were, even if they were tryin' to fool you."

Her heart sunk.

"I suppose so," she said.

"They're growin' up nice," he told her. "I wish you could see them."

"Me, too, sweet." She said softly, her voice caught in her throat. "Atticus?"

"Yes?"

"The sun's settin'," she said. "I think we should go home."

"I agree."

-o-o-o-

Jean Louise somehow managed to wedge the bottle of whiskey under her arm, and precariously balanced the teapot on top of the four plates (praying that they wouldn't fall), so that she could link her arm in Atticus'. He was silent when they began walking, and had been silent for most of their walk. She wondered if he thought he was walking with his wife, or knew that he was walking with his daughter.

She didn't think that she wanted to know.

"Scout?" He said finally, as they were nearing home, and she felt an inexplicable sense of relief.

"Yes'm?"

"Why on earth are you drinkin' right now?" He asked. She couldn't help but to laugh – if only he knew the day she had.

"I took it from Jack," she lied. "I didn't want _him_ drinking it."

"That doesn't mean you should drink it."

"I'm beginning to realize that, sir." She said as they approached the front door.

When they entered the house, Zandra was there to greet them. Her eyes looked wild, worried. "Atticus, I thought that you were here the entire time—"

"Just went for a walk," he responded. Jean Louise realized that perhaps her aunt had a reason to worry.

"And _you_ ," her Aunt said, her voice unhinged. "Your uncle said you were on your way home _two hours ago_ and you come home with _alcohol_ —"

"Ran into Atticus on his walk," she said quickly. "Thought I'd join him."

"Why are you _drinkin'_?"

"She was trying to stop Jack from drinking the whole thing," Atticus said. Suddenly, she regretted lying. "It's better in her hands than his."

Zandra sighed. "That, I suppose is true."

"I'm goin' to read in my study," Atticus said, as though nothing had happened in the town's square. Jean Louise found herself wanting to cry.

"Wait," Jean Louise said. With her free hand, she grasped her father as though she was giving him a one-handed hug, and kissed his cheek. Both Atticus and Zandra looked confused.

"I'll bring you dinner in your study," Zandra called after her brother as he slowly walked away. Facing her niece, she said: "you, sit, I'll bring you a warm plate."

Sitting alone at the dining room table, Jean Louise examined the dishes and teapot and picked at her food, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Before preparing Atticus' dish, Jean Louise saw Zandra shuffling through the cupboard. Shortly after, Zandra gingerly placed four matching tea cups in front of Jean Louise.

Once Jean Louise was certain that her aunt was out of sight, the tears began streaming down her face.

"Oh, sweet," she heard Zandra say, and the next thing she knew, her aunt was sitting next to her, cupping her niece's chin in her hand. Jean Louise closed her eyes, the tears still freely falling. "Sweet, what's wrong?"

She was tempted to tell her about her encounter with Atticus. How he seemed confused, didn't seem to be quite _there_ , how he thought that she was her mother. But she couldn't bring herself to find the words to say it. Zandra had already been so worried by the fact that they were even out, and she couldn't imagine what she'd do if she heard what had actually happened.

"I don't know why I asked that," she said softly. "Of course, you miss Louise."

She opened her eyes as her aunt gave her cheek an affectionate squeeze before letting go of her face. This was a rare side of Alexandra, and although it added to the strangeness of Jean Louise's day, it wasn't the _worst_ thing. "It doesn't seem real," she sniffed. "And it's just sad to think that there's almost no one left of her family. I suppose I'm just aware of my own mortality."

"I understand, sweet."

"Zandra?"

"Yes, sweet?"

"I'm sorry I give you a hard time," she said, tears forming in her eyes again. "I do love you."

"Oh, I never doubt that." Zandra gave her a weak smile. "I think the two of us have our own ways of showin' it."

Jean Louise chuckled. "You mean we're a bunch of messes."

"Well, if you think we're messes, wait until you hear about the Bower family."

Jean Louise perked up. One of her favorite parts of her visits home to Maycomb was gossiping with Alexandra. She didn't care if it made her like Stephanie Crawford, she felt as though she had a right to know what was happening in her town. "Have you been withholding the good gossip from me, Aunty?" she asked sternly. "They're the new folks that moved in two summers ago, right?"

"Yes ma'am," her aunt responded, picking at the piece of bread that was on Jean Louise's plate. "And it turns out they're related."

"Well of course they are, they're married." Jean Louise stated. Zandra gave her a look.

"Well, it turns out they're related by more than just marriage," Zandra informed her. "He's her _uncle_. They apparently fell in love and moved to Maycomb thinkin' that no one would know a thing, but her mother tracked them down because the woman is only nineteen and it's a whole big mess."

"Christ Almight _y_!" Jean Louise nearly screamed. "You were definitely holding out on me, you need to tell me _everything_."

Part of her wondered if her aunt was lying to make her feel better. Even so, she didn't care, because if that was the case it was working.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I originally wrote this chapter at 1:00 am yesterday (I guess today?), put it up, took it down to make minor edits, put it up again, hated it and deleted it. For the most part, it is the same, but I did do some major cosmetic work to it (that's what I get for being overly ambitious). Atticus is really hard for me to write to begin with (I feel like I always make him as bland as a piece of cardboard) and I have a very specific direction I'm taking him in this story, and just getting there is the hard part. So he, and I, are going to be a hot mess for a while but I hope it isn't too bad.

-o-o-o-

After years of denial, the day he began to realize his limitations was the year his granddaughter was born. Those similarly situated would claim that they knew they were getting old when their child now had a child of their own. Atticus, however, had a different experience. He knew he was getting old because he could not hear Jem when he said that the little girl's name was _Josie._

Rather, for the longest time, he thought that her name was _Rosie._ It wasn't until Carol asked her father-in-law if he bestowed the nickname upon the baby because of her bright pink cheeks that he realized that he had been mishearing his own granddaughter's name for nearly _three months_. He was too ashamed of his shortcomings to tell Carol the truth, so in response he had merely looked down at the baby's bright cheeks and half-chuckled, half-cleared his throat.

So, five years later, the little girl was still his Rosie.

It seemed as though the little girl was a combination of the most energetic parts of Jem and Scout when they were children. When she was two years old, she almost gave Atticus a heart attack when he walked in on her attempting somersaults and handstands in the living room. Jem had taught her how to ride a two-wheeled bike just a year ago, and she would proudly tell anyone who asked about how her daddy taught her how to play touch football _and_ she could hold her breath underwater for nearly a minute (for a five-year-old, those were her greatest accomplishments).

Even up until a week before her heart failed her for the second and final time, Louise was known to do whatever the little girl asked. They ran around the neighborhood, playing sword-fight like in _The Three Musketeers_ , riding bikes, and doing all of the physical activities that Atticus could not even do with his own children. Nanny Louise was one of Josie's treasured playmates, who never tired of her company or told her that she was too loud to be a little girl (like many of the children around town told her). Of course, when Scout visited from New York, everyone ceased to exist to Josie, even her beloved "almost grandma."

However, there was a soft side to the raucous little girl. To this very day, the only time the girl sat still was if she was nestled into the lap of her granddaddy. Even when Josie was a fussy baby, Carol or Jem would take turns walking her over to Atticus' house, because he was the only one who could get her to calm down. He spent countless hours sitting with her, reading her books or the newspaper, or listening to her talk about things she had done and thing she was looking forward to. He knew that he had landed in her good graces when one day she sighed and said: "Atticus, sittin' with you is my _favorite_ thing."

Ever since Louise's passing, Josie spent most of her time nestled next to Atticus on the sofa. As he grew older and his joints grew weaker, it was harder for her to settle herself in his lap. Instead, she curled up against his side, her arms wrapped around him and her face pressed up against him. She was heartbroken, and he knew it, so he did his best to fill their time together with the things she loved.

And that was why they were reading _The Three Musketeers_ for the fourth time. Ever since she was a young girl, it had been her favorite book and filled her young mind with adventure. Carol thought she was too young to be reading such things, but when Jem fondly looked back on his childhood of being read stories by his father, he gladly shared stories with his own daughter.

"Do you know much about your grandma?" He asked her, resting his hand on her wild blonde hair. He had stopped reading a few moments ago, finding the font of his copy of the book too small for his eyes to handle in small doses. Josie, thankfully, was patient with her elderly grandfather, and didn't seem too much to mind when his eyes got tired or his body was aching. He looked down at the long mess of blond hair on top of her head. Carol insisted that Josie grow her hair (despite her protests to have it cut short like Scouts), and Atticus was almost thankful for that – the little girl's hair was almost identical to how Jean's had been.

Or at least he thought so.

Josie lifted her head up, her large brown eyes gazing into his. "Daddy's mama," she said simply. "Nanny Louise's sister."

"That's right, sweet."

"Daddy says that I look like her," she continued, a deep look of concentration on her face. "And that she liked to read like we do, and that she used to let daddy dance on her feet like he does with me, and that her and Nanny Louise used'ta ride bikes together like _I_ did with Nanny Louise."

"Those are all very true," he said, feeling a swell of relief that Josie was being told about Jean. "I think she would like you very much."

"She's gone like Nanny Louise is," she said simply, a frown forming on her small mouth. "Why did they leave?"

He remembered just how hard it was to explain death to his children. Josie was just a year younger than Jem was when his mama died, though that seemed to have happened centuries ago. Back then, it was impossible for him to even comprehend explaining why mama was gone and why she was never coming back.

Even with time and experience, it wasn't easier to do it now.

"Mama told me that sometimes people are so special that they can only spend a little time with us so that they can teach us what it means to truly love people," Josie said, realizing that her grandfather was struggling. "She told me that Nanny Louise and grandma were those special people."

"I think your mama made a good point, sweet."

"Louise would say that is something that should go on a card you find at the corner store," Jean's voice came from the doorway, a hint of laughter in it. She was leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed as she watched the two of them.

Since the day of Louise's funeral, Atticus had seen Jean every day. Some days, he would only see her for a few moments, and on other days he was grateful to have the entire day with her. Somehow, however, she looked different. In fact, it seemed as though each day he sees her, something about her had changed, though he couldn't quite put it into words. However, that didn't matter to him. What mattered to him was the fact that she was still Jean and that she was with him. Seeing her and hearing her and talking to her made him feel like he was young again, as if he had just met her and their life together was just beginning.

If only that was the truth.

It was strange how time seemed to creep by at a slow pace ever since her passing, as if every day without her was slow and dull. The only thing that had kept him going after her passing was their children – _her_ children – pieces of her that remained even though she was gone. She remained in Jem's soft features, and his kind nature (though he buried it deep inside him unlike his mama). Though Scout looked more like the Finch side of the family (despite the fact that Louise claimed the two of them had been twins), Jean lived through in Scout's independence and her zeal for life and adventure and her honesty. She lived through her granddaughter, the little girl she never she never met but who had her hair and her eyes and whose nose crinkled the same way Jean's did when she laughed.

"Daddy calls grandma a spitfire," Josie giggled. "He said that she would make up fake gossip to tell Stephanie Crawford because she was such a _busybody_. _I_ think grandma was funny."

Jean chuckled, looking pleased with herself. "I like her," she said, pointing towards Josie. "She's a grandmother's dream."

Still looking at Jean, Atticus squeezed Josie's shoulder. "I think she would call you a grandmother's dream."

"Do you think she would like me?"

"Tell her I absolutely would." Jean said quickly. "I adore her."

"You would become her entire world."

"Even if I like to play sword fights and people tell me I'm too loud?"

" _I_ was called too loud, too." Jean responded.

"I think your grandma would have played sword fights with you just like Nanny Louise." Atticus said. "And, people used to say she was too loud, too."

"Do you think she's with Nanny Louise."

Jean was quiet.

"It's just as if they were never separated."

Josie smiled, the first true smile she had given anyone in her family since Louise died. "Atticus, is it possible to miss someone you never met?"

"Tell her I miss her," Jean was frowning now, her not moving from the little girl. "I miss her more than she could know."

"I know your grandma misses you," he says quietly, and the girl fell silent.

Jean sighed, a sad smile growing on her face. "She reminds me of Jeremy when he was her age," she said, sighing. "She has such a serious side to her."

"Atticus," Josie's sad voice called out. "Atticus, can you tell me a story."

He pushed hair away from her face. "Let me tell you about a girl from Montgomery, Rosie." He said, his eyes still on Jean. Her smile was larger now, almost as if being remembered was keeping her alive and present. Josie closed her eyes tightly, as she did whenever anyone told her a story (so that she could "picture everything perfectly"), and prepared herself for what she was going to be told.

Atticus told the story of Jean. Of a young woman with blonde hair and brown eyes like Josie, who grew up in a busy city with three sisters. He told a story about how her and her favorite sister (it was no doubt Louise was her favorite) got into all sorts of trouble and adventures and always made their mamas hair stand on end. Of a girl who went to a boarding school in the north and got to experience snow and got made fun of for her southern accent. Of a woman who took care of her ailing grandfather and met the man she would eventually married.

As he was telling the story, he began to realize that it had been so long since he had talked about Jean that the details of her life were beginning to blur. He couldn't quite remember where she went to boarding school, or the names of the people she grew up with, or what she did in Montgomery after she finished school, but before she was sent to the Buford Place with Louise. The story didn't turn out the way he wanted it to. It was full of gaps and blank spaces, and in his opinion didn't do Jean justice.

But Josie _loved_ it, not knowing that the story was actually incomplete. "Atticus, that was one of my favorite stories," she said.

Jean remained silent. When Atticus looked in the spot where she had been sitting, he noticed she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_He remembered the exact moment he fell in love with her._

 _For the longest time, he had been making excuses to go to the Buford Place. Yes, he had a respect for old Frank and was sorry that he was dying, but there really wasn't a need for him to stop by the Buford Place nearly every day._

 _Well, there was a need._

 _A blonde-haired young woman named Jean Graham._

 _Ever since he'd met her, Atticus had begun to feel a fondness for her that he had never quite felt for any other woman before. It didn't matter to him that he was fifteen years her senior, and at twenty-years old, she could have had her pick at any bachelor, there was something about her that was enticing, and he found himself wanting to be near her all of the time._

 _He didn't expect to fall in love with her when he did. He had invited her on a walk one chilly winter evening, seeking another chance to get a moment alone with her. She had refused to bring a coat, and half-way through their walk in the woods that connected the Buford Place with Finch Landing, he watched her wrap her small frame in his jacket. Even to this day, he would still chuckle at the sight of it. He remembered the slight twinge he had felt in his chest when she revealed that she'd probably move back to Montgomery after her grandfather's death, that she didn't have much of a reason to stay in Maycomb._

 _But that wasn't the exact moment he fell in love with her. No, he fell in love with her as she stood there, sobbing and shaking and confessing to him that she felt responsible for the death of her young nephew. Though her hands were covering her face, he could tell it was bright red and soaked with tears. Silently, he listened as she cried, breathlessly and desperately, finally revealing to someone her deepest secret._

 _And that was when he fell in love with her._

 _He loved her for her honesty, for her sincerity, for her sympathy. At that moment, he realized that he had gotten her to trust him, that he had somehow made his way to her and at the very least she considered him a friend. That was all he needed._

 _He remembered grasping her shoulders and holding her, as she continued to talk so fast her words seemed to blend together. He remembered her apologizing, remembered her saying he probably thought that she was ridiculous._

 _But he would never think such a thing._

 _He remembered standing by the river with her, watching her occasionally wipe at her eyes with the sleeves of his jacket. He admitted that he'd be sad to see her leave Maycomb._

 _And she_ smiled _._

 _He was even brave enough to wrap his arm around her that night. They had stayed by the river for nearly an hour, despite the darkness and the cold, talking about anything and everything they could think of. To this day, it was probably one of the best nights of his life._

 _And_ that _was the night he fell in love with her_. _A night he was certain he'd never forget._

It was almost as if he was in a haze, as if the edges of his life began to blur. He was sitting in the town's square, he could swear he was in Montgomery, but each time he sat there his surroundings seemed to get smaller and smaller. When he went there, it was usually just him.

Him and Jean.

That day, she reminded him of an old photograph that he loved so much. The picture, by now, had faded and was torn in a few places, but sitting before him, she was vibrant. It was almost as if the blonde of her hair, the pink of her cheeks, and the blue of her dress had been intensified. Almost as if she was some sort of vision.

"Do you remember those walks we took in the woods?" He asked her. "The ones between Buford Place and Finch Landing?"

She laughed. "Of course, I remember," she said. "You drug me outside during the coldest parts of the day."

"You never complained."

"I had no reason to," she explained. "I liked them."

"I fell in love with you on our first walk," he told her.

"You told me on our wedding day, sweet." She winked.

Ah yes, he did.

"When did you know you loved me?"

She sighed thoughtfully, tapping her pointer finger against her nose as she considered the question. "It was when you told me that you had stopped visiting Buford Place to see pappy, and were making excuses to come see me."

"That seems like a lifetime ago."

"It was, sweet."

"You look so young," he lamented.

"I am young," she responded.

"What is like?"

"What is what like?"

"To die?"

"It's not your time, sweet."

"I feel out of place," he admitted to her. "Each day it's like I am depending more and more on other people."

She genuinely looked sad. "I'm sorry," she offered. "I wish I could say somethin', but I don't know how that feels."

"I'm beginnin' to feel like old Frank Buford."

She scoffed. "You're not aging as poorly as he did," she informed him. "He was a nasty old man by the end. You're still the honorable man I fell in love with all of those years ago."

"You never answered my question, sweet." He said. "What does dyin' feel like?"

"I don't want to tell you just now," she told him, the expression on her face growing stern. "I'll tell you when it's your time to go."

"How will you know when it's time?"

"Haven't you always trusted me?"

"Yes, I have."

"Well trust me now."

He looked out at the vibrant green grass of the town square. He almost couldn't help but to think that as Jean and their surroundings got brighter, he was beginning to fade. Compared to them, he was old, he was withering. He didn't care what Jean said – he didn't belong. He didn't belong anywhere. The world did not do kindly to the elderly. He was in pain, some days it took him ages before his arthritis calmed down enough for him to get out of bed, he couldn't hear what people were saying to him, he had to give up his law practice and the life that he had grown accustomed to living just to appease the demon that was aging. He thought of Frank Buford and Mrs. Dubose more often these days, and couldn't help but sympathize with them for being so angry in their old age.

Growing older wasn't fair.

Jean inhaled, and then sighed out loud. "It's just so _beautiful_ ," she told him. "I could stay here forever."

"Me, too." He admitted.

"It actually reminds me of our wedding day," she said, her smile growing.

"Zandra still mentions how cold it was for us to have an outdoor wedding," he chuckled.

"I wasn't cold," she told him. "I was so full of excitement I felt as though I was so warm I'd almost set my dress on fire. But it looked just like this, bright and beautiful. Weather like this just _looks_ happy."

"I can't remember our wedding day," he admitted, frozen in fear as he tried to look back on the day. "I can't…"

"It was a long time ago, sweet."

"But it was…but I can't…"

"You remember _me_." She said firmly. "That's all I care about."

The uneasy feeling still wouldn't leave his chest. His cheeks grew warm as he tried his hardest to look back, to remember. "Why can't I remember…"

"You look tired, sweet." She said with a smile, though he knew that it wasn't that.

 _He couldn't remember._

What would he forget next? The birth of his children? Their entire childhood? The birth of his granddaughter? _Jean altogether_?

It was enough to send him into a fright.

"Tell me about it," he told her. "Tell me about our wedding day so that I'll remember."

"I don't know where to begin," she said, beaming as she thought back on the day. "Well, it was mid-March, but you'd think we were up north with the weather that we were having…"

And she proceeded to tell him the story of the day they got married. She described her dress and how excited she had been when he looked genuinely awestruck by her. she laughed as she told him that she couldn't stop crying the moment she saw him because she was so overwhelmed with joy at the prospect of spending the rest of her life with him. She told him about how he had been shaking so bad that he dropped her ring, and it took them nearly twenty minutes to find it in the grass (and then she told him how Alexandra told them that they would never had that problem if they had just gotten married in a church like decent people). She told him about how she kept messing up her vows because she was so nervous, and the pastor was beginning to think that she was playing a trick on him. She told him how Louise had cried giving a speech at their reception, and the entire time Jack had made fun of her only for him to start crying when it was time for him to make his speech. She told him how the two of them barely at a bite the entire night and both of them had a little too much wine on an empty stomach, and by the time they had gone to their hotel room for the night, they both were too tipsy to do anything but to lay next to each other and laugh until tears poured down their face – but neither of them minded, thinking that ringing in their marriage with laughter was the best way to do it.

By the end of her story, she was laughing, though tears were pooling in her eyes. "Besides the birth of our children," she said. "Marryin' you was the best night of my life."

"I remember now," he said, though he wasn't entirely truthful. "I remember how surreal it was."

"It was like a dream."

"You were with me so shortly I feel like my time with you was a dream."

"A good one, I hope."

"The best."

"You look tired, Atticus." She said. "I think we should go home."

"I think that sounds right."

Slowly, with each of his muscles screaming with every move, he got off of the bench. They walked together, with her keeping up with his slow movements, in peaceful silence.

Everything was still a blur.

It was almost as if he had a smudge on his glasses, making it impossible to see things clearly. He saw colors and shapes and things moving, but he couldn't get a clear image of anything. He was going to say something to Jean, to remark to her how it was odd that how the square had been so vivid, but now it was as if everything was fading together.

But when he looked to her, she was gone.

And Jean Louise was in her place.

"Scout?" He asked, trying to mask his confusion. "When did you get here?"

"Just a few seconds ago," she sounded uneasy. "I thought you'd like my company."


	6. Chapter 6

_Jean Louise_

"Jean? Jean are you alright?" The voice on the other end of the receiver asked with a sense of urgency. It wasn't until then that she looked at the clock, _2:13 a.m._ , meaning that it was 3:13 in New York.

"I'm sorry, Cora," Jean Louise said gruffly, finally realizing how tired she was. "I-um, is Toby up?"

Toby was the head of the advertising section of the department store she worked at. Jean Louise supposed he was roughly sixty now, though he would never admit to her his age. She had been eighteen when she met him. Young and full of ambition in New York, though absolutely terrified by the fact that she had planted herself in a new city, hours away from home with no family nearby. He had liked her application, and had decided to hire her before even meeting her. They were like two peas in a pod, sarcastic and wry and cynical, and they took a liking to one another almost instantaneously. He and his wife Cora had never had children, and Jean Louise almost immediately became a part of their family. When they had learned that she was living in a boarding house in a seedy part of town, Toby and Cora had set her up in a new apartment. When a man in the department sexually harassed Jean Louise because he was angry that she was moving up in the ranks and he wasn't, Toby not only fired him immediately, but gave him a verbal lashing that made the co-worker cry. Toby and Cora made her feel safe, a feeling that she had frankly been unfamiliar with since she was sixteen-years-old.

"What's wrong, kid?" Toby sounded tired. Cora had woken him up.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly.

"Don't be," he said. "I had to get up early anyway, you did me a favor."

"It's three am," she pointed out.

"The city never sleeps," he said dramatically. "Now tell me why _you_ aren't in bed."

She froze, trying to think of what to say. "I think I gotta stay in Maycomb longer." She said slowly. She knew he wouldn't be mad, but she was still afraid of what he would ask next. She was only supposed to be there for a week, but that had quickly turned into two weeks. And now she was telling him that she was going to be staying even longer.

"Is everything okay?" He asked quickly, concern growing in his voice. In the distance, she could hear Cora talking – asking what was wrong.

Tears immediately burned her eyes. She should tell him the truth, she thought. Tell him the truth that her father, the man who was usually the calm one, the rational one, was losing grip with reality. That he was forgetting things – where he was, who he was with, what year it was. That no one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn't say anything. That she hated Maycomb and the fact that the one person who made it somewhat bearable was rapidly becoming less like the person who had raised her.

"My aunt," she managed to whisper, her voice threatening to reveal her anguish. "It's just hard," she gulped. "She was the closest thing that I had to a mother."

She clamped her eyes shut, a wave of guilt rushing over her. Of course, she wasn't lying. Louise _had_ been the closest thing that Jean Louise had to a mother, but Jean Louise felt as though she was doing her dead aunt a disservice by using her death as an excuse. Louise had barely been put in the ground, and Jean Louise no longer thought about it as she grew more concerned about Atticus. She couldn't help but to think that with each passing day, Jean Louise was forgetting her aunt.

"Oh kid," Toby sighed. Despite the distance between the two of them, Jean Louise could vividly picture him rubbing his brow, which he always did when faced with a tough situation. "You take all the time you need. Are you sure I can't do anything?"

"It's fine," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Thank you."

-o-o-o-

After hardly sleeping for the rest of the night, Jean Louise finally emerged from her room at eleven. Zandra was in the kitchen, looking as though she had been impatiently awaiting her niece's arrival. "Why," Zandra said, eyeing her niece up. "You look downright awful."

"Thanks, Auntie." Jean Louise responded, throwing herself down in one of the chairs. "D'you got any coffee?"

Instead of answering, Zandra rushed to where Jean Louise sat, pressing her hand on her niece's head. When Jean Louise recoiled, she noticed the glimmer of hurt in her Aunt's eyes. "I'm fine," she said quickly. "I just didn't sleep well."

"You look like you've come down with somethin'," Zandra said, reluctantly placing a cup of black coffee in front of her niece. "That's probably why you haven't slept well."

Jean Louise shrugged. "Auntie?" she asked, taking a long sip from her coffee.

"Yes, sweet?"

"Is it alright if I stay longer than I planned?"

"This is your home," Zandra said nonchalantly. "How much longer."

Jean Louise shrugged. "Just longer." She said. "I don't know, a few weeks."

"Is everything alright in New York?"

"Of course it is."

"What's stoppin' you from goin' back?"

"Can't I just want to spend time at my home?" She asked.

"You never want to spend time here."

Despite the fact that Zandra was right, that didn't mean her statement didn't sting Jean Louise. It must've been the spite dripping from Zandra's voice as she said it. "Well, I want to now." Jean Louise said, downing the rest of her coffee in one sip (burning her tongue and throat as she did so). Nosily, she got up from her chair and slammed the cup in the sink.

"Where are you goin'?" Zandra asked.

"Jem's."

-o-o-o-

Jem had been at work when Jean Louise arrived at the house. She probably should have known that, but the days in Maycomb were beginning to blend together and she was beginning to forget what day it was. Carol had asked her to stay for breakfast, and after chugging another cup of coffee with haste, Jean Louise explained that she had to go see Jem and left.

Years ago, before Josie was even born, Jem had confided to her that Carol thought that Jean Louise hated her. When Jean Louise said that she didn't, and she thought Carol was just fine, Jem noted that Carol didn't know how to handle her. She was brash and blunt and sarcastic, always on the go and moving with a level of intensity that Carol was not used to. Carol was a Southern lady through and through. Soft and gentle, speaking slowly and with great care. She was probably everything that Alexandra wanted Jean Louise to be – an angelic figure that would bring grace and integrity to the Finch name.

The exact opposite of what Jean Louise was.

As she walked in the direction of town, she kicked herself for not staying longer. She had told herself years ago that she would actually try to be kinder to Carol (not that she was mean or hated the woman) because it would mean a lot to Jem. Especially after her niece was born, Jean Louise reckoned that she should actually make an effort with Carol.

But that would mean that Jean Louise would have to open herself up to another person.

Before going to Atticus' – actually, Jem's – law office, she stopped by the convenience store again. She bought a cheap bottle of whiskey and two sandwiches, and shoved the paper bag containing the liquor into the pocketbook she brought with her, before making her way to Jem. This was the fourth time that the store clerk saw her, and she wondered if he would dare tell Zandra about Jean Louise's visits. But then, she realized, Zandra would never associate with a man like that.

"You got time for lunch with your sister?" Jean Louise asked as she barged through the door leading to Jem's office, extending the sandwich out towards him.

"Carol made me lunch," he explained. "But, what kind of sandwich is that?"

"The ham one you like."

Jem paused, looking at the paper satchel that was sitting on his desk. Slowly, he pushed it into the waste basket. "Give me that. Don't tell Carol."

For a few moments, the two of them sat in silence, eating their sandwiches while Jem looked over some documents. "I got some whiskey, too," Jean Louise offered, slowly pulling the bottle out of her bag. She opened the bottle and took a swig. "Want some?" She held the bottle out.

"I'm _working_ ," he said. "I can't do my job right if I'm drinkin'."

"Jack was a functioning alcoholic for years and he was still a pretty fine doctor," Jean Louise responded, shrugging.

Jem stared at her. At first, she thought he'd yell at her, say something about how Jack didn't have a drinking problem and she should keep her mouth shut. But, he surprised her.

"Pour a little in my mug," he thrust the mug in her direction. She grimaced as she saw there was still coffee in it. "Just mix it in."

Jean Louise obliged.

"Why'da come here?" Jem asked, swigging from the mug. "Are you alright?"

"Why does somethin' have to be wrong for me to have lunch with my brother?"

"Your nails," he said, pointing at her hands. "They're bloody stumps."

"I always bite them,"

"Not this bad."

Jean Louise sighed. "I'm going to stay here for a bit longer."

Jem furrowed his brow, looking confused. "Why? You hate it here."

Jean Louise huffed, crossing her arms as she thought back to her earlier conversation with Zandra. "I may not like Maycomb but I like my family."

"Shit," he said. "I didn't mean no harm."

Jean Louise sighed. "I know," she said. "I just think I should."

Jem paused. "Because of Atticus?"

She felt cold. "Why do you say that?"

"So you've noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"I don't know if I was in denial or what," he said. "But he's gotten strange since Lou died."

Jean Louise didn't answer.

"Josie pointed it out, actually," Jem continued. He looked worried now, which made Jean Louise want to cry. She took a long sip of the whiskey, trying to make an excuse for why her eyes were burning so badly. "She said he was talking to mama."

"Mama?" Jean Louise asked, playing dumb. She knew what Jem was getting at.

" _Our_ mama." Jem said. His face had gone pale. "At first I didn't believe her and she got so mad at me. Went on about how grown-ups don't believe kids and all this, it actually reminded me of the time Uncle Jack smacked you that one Christmas. Anyway, each day she comes back talkin' 'bout it. So I went over the other day, when you were at Jacks, and Atticus was actin' real strange. He just kept staring at the one chair in the living room, and no one was in it. He kept sayin' things, too, and Zandra and I were in there talkin' with him but what he was sayin' wasn't makin' sense, it didn't match up with our conversation."

Jean Louise closed her eyes and sighed. "Jem," she said, pouring more whiskey into his cup. "I think Josie's right," she paused, trying to think of what to say. "I saw him sitting in town a while ago and I sat with him and he thought _I_ was mama."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know what to do," she said quickly. "I didn't know what was happenin'."

"I'm not mad," he said quickly, chugging the whiskey. "I just, I don't know." He said. The two siblings looked at each other for a few minutes. Both were confused and at a loss for words.

Jem sighed. "Listen," he said. "You get goin', and I'll try to get out early tonight. We'll sit down and try to make sense of all of this, alright?"

"Alright." She said, though she wasn't convinced that they would be successful.

-o-o-o-

On her way back in the direction of the neighborhood, Jean Louise chugged the rest of the whiskey. Hiding the empty bottle in a bush, she began to feel warm, almost numb. As she walked, her mind was foggy with the mixture of the alcohol and her conversation with Jem. Maybe she should just leave, she thought. Go back to New York and pretend like none of this was happening. Go back to her life and her job and her friends, and forget about what was happening.

Even thinking about that filled her with guilt.

For the second time that day, she knocked on the door to Jem's house. It took a few moments for Carol to open the door, flour caked on her face and in her hair. She was probably trying to recreate one of Maudie's desserts for Jem, though it would probably not taste as good. As she looked at her sister-in-law, Jean Louise realized that she was nearly drunk. In a matter of seconds, Jean Louise tried her best to sober up. "I wanted to see you and Josie," she said quickly.

Carol gave Jean Louise a small smile. "Josie went to see Atticus," she said. "I'm sure they won't mind you bein' with them."

Jean Louise turned to leave, but at the last second change her mind. "D'you need help with whatever you're doin'?" She asked, and immediately noticed that Carol looked surprised.

Within minutes Jean Louise was settled in Jem's kitchen, watching as Carol struggled with a pie crust she was making. Jean Louise couldn't deny, the pie actually seemed like a good concept. It was some plum-apple-raspberry something or other. Carol wanted to work on her baking skills, she explained, and decided to try to make her own recipes.

It wasn't until Jem came home a few hours later that Jean Louise realized how long she had been there. For the first time in their relationship as sisters-in-law, Jean Louise and Carol had a long conversation. They talked about Josie and school, what Carol has been up to, what Jean Louise did in New York. They reminisced on memories of Louise with Josie, and Jean Louise shared stories of what Louise had been like with her and Jem as children. Jean Louise was there for so long that the pie not only baked and cooled, but the two women sat at the kitchen table, eating directly out of the pie pan with forks, the buzz from the whiskey slowly wearing off.

"Where's Josie?" Jem asked, entering into the kitchen. Jean Louise and Carol both looked as though they had been caught off guard, caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing.

"She's been with Atticus all day," Carol said.

Jem glanced at Scout. "Maybe we should all go over there," he said, and the two women agreed.

-o-o-o-

The sun was beginning to set as the three of them approached Atticus' house. Before they could even get to the door, Alexandra flung it open. "Oh, thank goodness," she said, looking at them. "Where are Atticus and Josie? Didn't they go to your house, Jem?"

Jem glanced at Carol, whose face turned pink. "They didn't come home, did they?"

"No," Carol said slowly, as if she was wracking her brain, trying to remember if they did.

"I was there all afternoon, Auntie," Jean Louise said. "They weren't there."

Zandra's expression faltered and she went ashen. "I've been lookin' for them for a half-hour, and they aren't here."


End file.
